


Brothers

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen was hurt while in France, and is brought back onboard the HMS Lively by Lt. Pullings. Jack has to deal with his feelings and his worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kezya for beta-reading this on such a short notice !
> 
> Written for Blackbird Song

 

 

No wind filled the sails of the HMS Lively, and the slight rocking of the ship was caused only by the natural movement of the sea, which few on board noticed it anymore. To most sailors, the tides were like a rocking cradle; they lulled them into sleep, just like a mother's tender arms. That night was also extraordinarily quiet and peaceful, so much so that it was difficult to conceive that hardly a few hundred yards from the vessel lay the shores of the much hated Napoleon-ruled France. Only the usual creaking sounds could be heard, except for a regular, nerve-wracking sound on the quarterdeck. Tap, tap, tap, tap; a short silence, then it resumed, as it had for the most part of the past hour. From time to time, one of the sailors would glance up there and see a tall, dark figure slowly pacing. Tap, tap; about turn, and it resumed again, albeit a little faster this time.

One of the sailors elbowed his neighbour. "Looks like Goldilocks is getting worried," he whispered.

The other, an old gunner who had seen more than his share of battles, shrugged. "They're getting late," he acknowledged. "The Lieut'nant shoulda been back by now."

Though he feigned deafness, Jack Aubrey, captain of the Lively, had an exceptional hearing and he clearly heard the two sailors, but he only payed attention to the dark shape of the shore, and narrowed his eyes as though he thought he could see anything through the darkness. One hour ago, he had sent Tom Pullings, his first lieutenant, in the launch so as to pick up Stephen Maturin, who had been busy in France; Jack did not know exactly what his friend had been up to, and preferred to keep it this way, but he had a rough idea, and that was more than enough to make him worried by the delay.

When, at last, he heard the sound of the oars hitting the water, intense relief washed over him. In three strides, he was down on the deck and squinting intensely at the shape of the launch he could now make out. If it had not been so dangerous - sounds carried far on the sea - he would have shouted for his men to hurry. Was Stephen onboard? He could not see yet.

The launch reached the side of the Lively, and a moment later a man climbed the rope ladder. Once up on the deck, he spotted the captain and saluted smartly. Jack could not help but be a little disappointed when he saw that was only Pullings, though he knew he was being very unfair with the young man.

"Did you get him?" he asked urgently. "Where is Stephen?"

"I'm sorry, sir..." Pulling said.

Such a beginning did nothing to ease Jack's worry, and he could have strangled his first lieutenant, if there was any chance it would allow him to get the information faster.

"What happened?" he snarled.

"We got him," Pullings said immediately, understanding his commanding officer's concern, for he too had a lot of affection for Doctor Maturin. "He is in the launch, but..."

He did not have time to finish his sentence; already, Jack had gone to the side of the ship and gazed down, trying to spot Stephen in the launch. Pullings came up behind him.

"Stephen?" Jack called. He should have remembered how clumsy Stephen was when it came down to climbing onboard, and he hoped that this time at least his friend would not fall in the water in the process; not only was the weather not fitting for a swim, but in the dark it might also be difficult to save the doctor, who could swim just as well as a cannonball.

"It's no use, sir," Pullings said. "He's unconscious."

Jack swirled back and stared at his lieutenant. He had a great deal of affection for Pullings. Really, he did. But at the moment he felt like throwing him overboard. "Why didn't you say so to begin with?" he asked angrily. Then, his wrath fell away and he just felt weary. A sigh escaped his lips. "Never mind. Tell me what happened, while your rowers get him onboard."

"Yes, sir," Pullings said softly. He gave a few sharp orders to the men still waiting in the launch, then turned his full attention to Jack. "It was midnight when we came ashore. At first I didn't see the doctor, so I thought I'd leave the launch and take a look around in case he was a little further along the beach. I was lucky to find him almost immediately, but he was already unconscious. I don't know what happened to him while he was in France, but it's a wonder he even made it to the rendezvous point."

"That bad?" Jack murmured, his breath catching in his throat.

Stephen was the only competent doctor onboard, and he just did not know what he would do if it turned out his friend needed more care than he was able to provide. France was exceedingly dangerous, but going back to England might take too long...  
Well, first things first. Right now Jack's priority was to get Stephen into his cabin and make sure he was not going to... it was painful to even think about the most remote possibility of his best friend passing away. Jack had seen too many deaths to delude himself that it could not happen, but he still preferred not to think about it. Better not to tempt fate. Stephen would probably just scoff at the idea and call Jack an irredeemably superstitious man, but...

"I don't know, sir," Pullings said after a while. "I did not really have time to check. I wanted to bring him back to the ship as quickly as possible."

"You did well," Jack nodded.

A glance towards the side of the ship informed him that Stephen - for that prone, limp body could only be him - was now laying down on the deck.

"Bring him to my cabin," Jack ordered. The infirmary might have been better, but his cabin was closer, larger, and at least he there he could easily keep an eye on his friend. "Pullings, come with me."

Stephen was carefully put on the bed, and Jack wordlessly beckoned for his first lieutenant to bring him some more light. When at last he was able to take in the full extent of Stephen's injuries, he shuddered. He had seen the most horrible wounds ever since he had become part of the Navy, while he was still hardly a man; crushed bones, lacerated flesh, missing limbs, none of that affected him any longer. But Stephen was his best friend, and seeing him in such a state, his face swollen with bruises and cold sweat gathering on his brow, made Jack shook with anger. This had been done deliberately; this had been torture. And somebody would pay for that. When Stephen was better.

With Pullings' assistance, he carefully removed his friend's clothes down to the waist. Though he was no physician, he could tell Stephen's left arm was probably broken, as well as a few ribs. He just hoped there were no internal injuries.

Feeling helpless, he glanced over at Pullings, who looked about to be sick as he gazed down at the inert body.

"Perhaps we should... uh... get him warmer," the first lieutenant suggested, finally meeting Jack's eyes. "And put something cool on his forehead for the fever. And maybe make some broth, in case he wakes up and feels well enough to eat."

"Yes," Jack agreed, grateful for the suggestions. "Take care of it, will you, Tom?"

"Of course, sir," Pullings murmured, understanding that the captain wanted to spend some time alone with his friend.

"Oh, and the Lively can't stay so close to France, or we might get in trouble, come morning," Jack added absent-mindedly.

Usually, he would have been excited at the possibility of engaging an enemy ship, but at the moment the thought could not have been farther from his mind. He hardly heard Pullings leave the room and discreetly close the door behind him. Only Stephen mattered. Jack looked down at him again, and laid a hand on his forehead. It was burning hot.

He had known this mission was dangerous. He had told Stephen to be careful, and that perhaps he should take someone else with him. But had the doctor listened? No, of course not. Stephen was like that, stubborn as a mule in his own way. He would nod, and smile, and do as he pleased. Of the two of them, Jack though with a grim smile, it was probably Stephen who was the more determined, the more vicious an enemy. Most people did not feel Stephen's strength, when they looked at this scrawny, brown-haired, unattractive man. But Jack knew, probably better than anyone else, who Stephen really was, though even he did not know everything about the man. He had been his friend for years, yet he was still no closer to understanding certain traits of Stephen Maturin's personality.

In the end, it did not matter. The only thing Jack cared about, was that Stephen was his best and most reliable friend; that they had saved each other's lives countless times. And that he would not survive six months without the best surgeon in the whole navy on his ship.

He would not let Stephen leave his sight again without being completely sure nothing would happen to him. Stephen had, unfortunately, an uncanny ability to find trouble, or even to stir it up unwillingly.

Jack looked down at the wan face again, and this time he saw dark brown eyes staring at him.

"Stephen! Lord, you had me worried!" he exclaimed, not thinking it unmanly to show his concern. Besides, he was too relieved to care much about appearances.

"M fine," Stephen tried to enunciate through his swollen lips.

"Right you are, and I am Admiral Nelson," Jack muttered. "You need to see a doctor, if only for that arm. It will have to wait until we get back to England, but that will only be a day or two at the most."

"Need t' g' back," Stephen said - though "attempted to say" might be a better description of the endeavour. After his third try, Jack was finally able to translate the sentence into the King's English, and he stared in disbelief at his friend.

"I see you have not lost your sense of humour," he finally said. "You need to get back, of course. Very funny."

Stephen shook his head vehemently. It was not a joke.

"Well, if you think I'm letting you off this ship..." Jack began, but he trailed off when he saw the pleading look Stephen cast him. "Why do you want to get back, anyway?"

"Inf'mation," Stephen muttered. "Din't gettit."

"You did not get the information," Jack translated. "To hell with the information! I am not letting you off this ship. That's final," he added when Stephen gave him a mutinous glare. "If you're feeling well enough to be angry with me, you're probably well enough to have something to eat. I'll fetch some broth..."

Jack was about to leave, but Stephen's fingers closed around his wrist, holding him back. "Jack," he managed to say clearly, trying to convey his meaning, to explain with his eyes how important it was to him that this mission should be successful.

A long hesitation followed. Jack could not let Stephen leave again - this time, he would not survive it, that was certain. But he could not let his friend down either. He remembered only too well how Stephen had never let him down. If this information was so important to him...

"All right," Jack sighed. "There isn't enough time tonight, but I'll go tomorrow and I'll bring back this intelligence, since it's so important to you, brother. But you will do as I say, have something to eat and get some sleep."

Stephen hesitated, then nodded with a grateful smile. His fingers tightened slightly around Jack's wrist before he let go and eased back onto the bed.

____________________________________________________________________________

Stephen woke up again, later that night, to find Jack asleep on a chair at his bed side. A soft snore followed the rhythm of his breath, and a few strands of blond hair moved with each respiration. Jack shifted on his chair, groaned, and resumed his snoring, a little more loudly. Stephen smiled, knowing that his friend would have a stiff neck the next morning. He found it comforting to have Jack looking over him, especially after what had happened to him the day before - the torture, the screams, the blows... It had not been the worst torture session he had ever lived through - a few broken bones would heal just fine, and at least this time they had left his hands alone - but it had not been pleasant.

Yet, Stephen regretted nothing, except that he had not been more careful. The information he was looking for was worth it. He had been immensely relieved when Jack had offered to go and fetch it, because he knew he was not really in a shape to do it; not that he was all that concerned with his own life, but the information did have to be brought back by someone. And Jack... well, he had to be aware of the danger, yet he preferred to go rather than let Stephen do it.

But Jack was like that. Some might think him naive, some had even called him an oaf, but Stephen knew how untrue that was. While, often enough, Stephen's wits allowed him to keep the both of them out of trouble, the rest of the time it was always Jack the strong one, a power of nature, who protected Stephen. People might say what they liked, it changed nothing. Of course, sometimes, the way Jack behaved... he could be foolish, oblivious of certain realities of life, but he was definitely the best captain in the whole Navy, and the most trustworthy friend Stephen had ever had.

Perhaps the only real friend Stephen had ever had.

 


End file.
